by Stu Jones
“You worry about you,” Ari cut him short, a coldness returning ever so slightly to her demeanor. “Are you familiar with these bandits or not?”
Kane took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. The Coyotes and their leader, Malak—that’s whom we’re following west.”
Ari suddenly came alive. “But why? Why would you court death by trying to stop a group like that?”
Kane, now serious, considered his words carefully. “Ari, I told you: we all have wounds,” he said, his face gravely serious. “They have to be stopped. You’ve seen why.”
“But you?” Ari opened her hands to indicate the small group packing up along the road. “You have this, and Malak has an army. How do you expect to take him on with a bunch of untrained civilians?”
“We’ve been through a lot so far, and it’s made us strong. We also have some training. But beyond that, we trust that God is with us. He has preserved us this far, and I believe he will make the way clear for us.”
Ari’s wheels spun, her experience contradicting her faith in a myriad of unanswered questions that all seemed to cross her face at once.
Kane continued. “This is bigger than any of us. It’s bigger than revenge or justice or any of the ways we’ve been personally wronged. Malak has to be stopped. If he isn’t checked, he’s going to enslave the earth and unleash something far worse upon all of creation.”
Ari’s questioning look deepened.
“Please, don’t ask me to explain it further right now. Just trust me. It’s worse than you can imagine.”
Ari took a moment to process the overload of strange information. She knew she shouldn’t; she knew it wouldn’t do her any good, but she couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth. “Take me with you,” she said abruptly, standing.
Kane stood and started to shake his head but stopped, his mouth half-open. “You just said it yourself—it’s a death sentence. Why would you come?”
“You know why. Like you, I have unfinished business. Besides, you may be Christians and I a Jew, but our God is the same God. And I believe he has a role for all of us to play.”
Kane regarded the stoic, unflinching nature of the woman before him. He not only knew she was right but also the undeniable asset she would be to their cause.
“Yeah, Ari,” Kane agreed, “you are more than welcome to join us. We would be honored to have you.”
Without warning, Ari stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Kane’s neck, clenching him tightly. He stood with his arms raised, surprised at the gesture.
“The chance to make things right…” Ari fought back the emotion as she squeezed him. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I think I might.” Kane reassured her with a small pat of his hand on her back, only a little concerned that touching this woman would get him cut again.
Winston awoke with a start as a hand covered his mouth and the point of something terribly sharp pressed deeply into the side of his neck. He moaned, and his eyes flashed wide, the blade threatening to penetrate the stretched skin of his neck if he dared to move.
A female voice slipped into his left ear. “Do what I say, and I won’t kill you. Nod slowly if you understand.”
Winston nodded, his pudgy body trembling. He tried to clear his mind. He had taken a nap late in the afternoon. He’d pulled his bedroll off to the side to get away from those who were talking or working. Now that it was dark and he had a knife to his throat, he began to deeply regret just how far he had wandered from the safety of the group.
Quickly he was pulled to his feet by several arms, the knife remaining at this neck as he stumbled and was half dragged farther away from camp. As they rounded the other side of an old convenience store, now deserted and empty, Winston was roughly shoved back against the concrete-block wall.
“Hey, Winston, long time no see,” Shana said, sneering.
“Shana? But you were…”
“Captured by the Coyotes. Yes, I was. Then sent back against them in a rash decision by Kane. Only I wasn’t fighting for you people anymore, and Kane got a bunch of his people dead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not, Winston. That’s because you’re a sheep. It’s remarkable, really, that you’ve made it this long.”
“But—”
“Shh.” Shana cut him off and pressed the knife into his neck again. “Look, sweetie, call it Stockholm syndrome if you want, but it goes much deeper than that. Malak took pity on me and opened my eyes to the truth of this world.”
“What truth?”
Shana smirked. “Tell him, boys.”
“No one stands against the darkness. The world belongs to us now,” one of the thugs said.
“That’s right, Winston. I chose to be on the winning team— that’s all. And right now we need you to be a good little squealer and help us out.”
“Me? Help…with what?” Winston quivered in terror.
“You’re going to hand Kane and the others over to us. We need something to present to Malak, to get back in his good graces. Your information and those people’s lives are going be that thing. You understand?”
“I can’t!” Winston stammered.
“You can’t, or you won’t?” Shana barked. “You know Kane and those people aren’t going to make it anyway. You know they have no chance out here, how foolish it is to go against us. Now, there are only two ways this is going to go. One, you tell us everything, and I mean everything, and we not only spare you now but also when we return to destroy these people. Or you give us nothing, in which case we’re going to cut your throat right now and leave you in this ditch!”
The fat man shook visibly now with fear and indecision.
“You want to die for nothing? Is that what you want?” Shana snarled in his face. She paused and gave a flick of her head. “Fine. Bleed him.”
The rough men pulled him from the wall and dragged him to a nearby ditch where they grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. The fat man cried out as they put the blade to his neck and began to pull.
“No!” Winston shrieked. “Wait. I’m not ready to die,” he sobbed.
With a flick of Shana’s head, Winston was snatched up and forced back against the wall again.
“OK, fat boy, ready to play ball or what? Don’t waste my time,” Shana said, taunting him.
“OK, but…”
“But?” Shana snarled.
“Spare Jenna and the children too. If you do that…” Winston could barely get the words out.
“Not going to happen! The deal is for your life—or nothing!”
“But the children…” Winston stammered.
“They’re going to die anyway, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it,” Shana hissed. “Now deal or die, fat boy—those are your choices.”
“I…I can’t.”
Shana snarled, clearly furious but also torn between carrying out her threat and needing this pathetic excuse of a man. “OK,” she started, “I guess we’ll have to try something else, then. Hell, it works for Malak; maybe it will work for me.”
“What are you talking about?” One of the thugs shot her a glance.
“Forget about it and hold him down.”
Winston moaned as the men pulled him to the ground and pinned his arms and legs. Shana slid on top of him and pinned his shoulders to the ground with her knees.
“OK, fat boy, you’re going to work for us whether you like it or not. Open your mouth.”
Winston quivered in terror, refusing to cooperate.
“Do it!” Shana hissed as one of the thugs grabbed either side of his jaw, forcing it open. Winston moaned in desperation as Shana cut her own hand, dripping her tainted blood across Winston’s face and into his open mouth. The pudgy man thrashed his head and tried to spit it out, but he was being choked and forced to swallow it. As he did, he felt it affect him. Deep inside, he felt his heart grow cold, a creeping sickness overtaking him one inch at a time,
until there was nothing left but sorrow, shame, and defeat.
Shana looked into the now-darkened eyes of the fat man before her and smiled. “I’ll be damned. Let him up.”
The thugs backed away as Winston stood slowly, wiping his face.
“It worked, maybe not as completely as it does from Malak, but it worked. You can feel the darkness inside you now, can’t you? You can feel it like a cancer, growing with every hopeless thought. You belong to us now. You understand that?”
Winston nodded his head reluctantly.
“Now listen up. Doing anything other than what I tell you to do will result in a very slow and painful death for you, Jenna, those kids, and everybody else. But if you do exactly what I say and you keep your fat mouth shut about it until we return, we’ll let you live. You got that? Not a word to Kane or anyone else.”
Winston nodded, and Shana continued as she explained the plan and what was in store for the people who had become like family to him. But Winston was only half listening, his mind descending into a mire of despair, knowing full well that there was no cure for the disease of fear that was now swelling inside him.
They’d forced him to make a deal with the devil, and the devil always collected his due.
The reality of the situation, the dire hopelessness of it all, still failed to fully reach the level of true comprehension in the depths of his mind. Tynuk stumbled over a low scrub brush and fell to all fours as vomit, thick and milky white like old pancake batter, poured from his throat. He wretched, his insides cramping in pain and exhaustion as they worked to expel the toxin that still plagued him.
The warrior boy sat back on his haunches and dizzily wiped the spittle from his face. The dark of night surrounded him as he searched the desert horizon for any signs of movement. His strange companion had left him hours ago, motioning for him only to continue west. His focus drifted in and out as the shadows laughed at him from the darkness beyond. Placing his hands on his face the way a drunk would, he rubbed it to try to sober himself.
This pestilence, the devil’s snare, as Queenashano had called it, would neither finish him, as it should have long ago, nor release him from its grasp. He was a prisoner in the clutches of the poison, a bystander witnessing the events of his life as though they played in front of him on a great cinema screen.
Tynuk vomited again, heaving and groaning with the effort. There was no question that he would not make it much farther without water.
Suddenly, before him stood Grandfather Nuk’Chala, his figure, though thoroughly aged, still regal and full of power.
“Grandfather, help me,” Tynuk begged. “I came all this way. I did what you said.”
“You failed the trials, boy. Die and release yourself from this purgatory.”
“Why would you say that? After all the training, after you told me my destiny was to lead our people?”
“That has passed. You are a failure—a waste of my time and effort.”
Tynuk scowled standing before the old man. “No. Grandfather Nuk’Chala would never say such a thing! Away from me, foul spirit!” Tynuk lashed out, swinging his fist in an arc that passed through the hallucination, causing it to evaporate like a specter in the still of night.
“What then of your mother?” Grandfather’s voice spoke to him from the darkness all around him. “The woman who bore you, loved you—the mother you left to die.”
“Stop! Stop it! Leave me, demon!”
Now the voice of the boy’s mother spoke to him from the depths of the night, her cries echoing against the barren hills of the surrounding landscape. “Reno? Reno, are you there? I’m so scared, Reno.”
“Stop!” Tynuk stood, stumbling forward as he cupped his hands over his ears, groaning. “I can’t hear this. Stop it!”
“Why did you abandon me, Son? Was I so evil that you would leave me to die?”
“Mama!” Tynuk shrieked as tears began to run heedlessly down his face. “I didn’t mean it. I never wanted you to get hurt!”
“You could have taken me with you. But instead you left me to burn in the fire!”
“No, no, I wanted to take you with me, but I couldn’t!”
“Face it, boy!” Grandfather’s words cut like a knife. “You’re a failure! You don’t have the strength to fulfill your destiny!”
“No!” Tynuk gasped, as he stumbled blindly across the desert, desperate to escape from this hell.
“You’ve failed already! Give up and let the desert take you!” Grandfather’s voice yelled after him.
“You left me to die!” his mother’s voice screamed.
“You failed us!” Grandfather howled.
“You left me!”
“You failed!”
“Leave me, demons! In the name of the Great Spirit, I command you!” Tynuk’s feet left contact with the earth as he ran, tumbling headlong into an ancient crevice carved by centuries of flooding watershed.
“Spirit, protect me!” The boy’s cries disappeared into the depths of the trench and the failings of his own heart—a darkness that no longer allowed him to see any hope for the future.
12
THE GROUP HAD unquestioningly accepted Ari into their midst without so much as a vote. It was as though they all sensed that she had as much a right to be a part of what they were doing as those among them who had been embroiled in this mess from the very beginning.
Courtland stood, watching, his passive demeanor in stark contrast to his gigantic, almost-mythic size. He eyed the new dark-haired woman as Kane helped to find her a vehicle to ride in. As a result of her coming on, they had had to do some chinese-fire-drill-style seat shuffling.
The giant saw Winston wander out, disheveled and shuffling toward the vehicles. He looked terrible, absorbed in his own thoughts as he slowly made his way to the caravan. Courtland felt a twinge of sympathy for this man, who suddenly looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Hey, Winston, get some good rest?” Courtland said warmly.
The man continued to shuffle, entranced.
“Winston? You OK, big guy?” Courtland tried again.
“Muh? Wha—?” Winston turned and blushed, obviously embarrassed he’d been caught off guard.
“Are you OK?” Courtland emphasized.
“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m fine, thanks.” He turned away and entered a tarnished sedan of unrecognizable make.
Strange.
Courtland stepped a huge booted foot into the cab of the old diesel Ford F-350 and craned his neck to look at the sky. The ribbons of smoke and cloud cover left ragged holes in the ceiling of the world just big enough to see a few stars now as the sun dropped out of sight, melting beneath the black horizon. Above, the small, uneven pockets remained remarkably clear against the darkening sky. A host of stars glittered like tiny diamonds flung against the dark unknown reaches of space. They stood in stark contrast, single points of illumination, lighting an otherwise dark and uninhabitable landscape.
It had been so long since he had stopped to gaze at the stars. It made him think of his daughter, Marissa, years ago when she was just a girl, giggling and lying against his massive chest as she pointed up and asked him about the constellations. They lay on the front lawn for what seemed like hours, snuggling, tickling, and enjoying each other’s company. Each was all the other had after Marissa’s mother passed—a loss Courtland thought he might never recover from. But the difficulties and loneliness of single parenthood were nothing compared with the beautiful, wonderful, all-consuming joy of being a father. Courtland cherished it, knowing that like all things on this earth, one day, this phase of his life too had to end.
Sadly, it ended much sooner for him than he would have liked— his daughter killed in a terrible car crash that he’d miraculously survived, only to face the End War and the death of modern civilization that followed. Through it all Courtland never lost his faith, never stopped believing in a God who acted with purpose and love. He always reminded himself that he deserved noth
ing and that his sin was enough to condemn him for eternity were it not for the redeeming blood of his savior, Jesus. He knew that he existed on this earth to further the kingdom of God, and if that was in the Crushball arena, the church pulpit, or a wasteland nightmare fighting the deranged forces of evil, it was where he knew he was supposed to be. It was what he was born for. It was why God had chosen him and imbued him with uncanny superhuman strength. Just like Samson. And Courtland knew that, just like the long-locked hero of old, should he lose his way or his faith in God, so would he his strength.
“Hey.” Jenna’s voice broke his concentration and snapped him back to the present. “Dagen is going to ride with you, since Ari and Kane are now in the Jeep with me. We’ve had to shuffle a few folks around since we’re taking on Ari and the few others we found. I figured Kane and this one probably shouldn’t ride together.” She gave a half smile as she patted Dagen’s shoulder.
“Yes, probably a wise move,” Courtland responded. Dagen wordlessly slipped his crutches into the vehicle and took his seat, apparently miffed at the change. Jenna winked at Courtland from across the cab and made her way back to her vehicle.
Well, this is going to be interesting.
Courtland heaved his massive bulk into the truck that rocked hard with the addition of five hundred human pounds and pulled the door shut with a clink as the diesel rumbled to life and began to roll west down Interstate 40.
Hours of silent, ruined highway had passed beneath the tires of the caravan. They had passed into New Mexico a while back. Some members restlessly slept while others tried to keep the skipping yellow line against the sea of black from lulling them into the realm of dreams and nightmares. Courtland and Dagen led the way, cutting the depths of the night with the bulk of the heavy F-350.
They had gone out of their way to avoid Oklahoma City, Amarillo, and a few other moderately sized towns. It hadn’t even been a discussion, since by now they all knew the drill. Large cities or significantly populated areas were to be avoided at all costs. They were the areas that had been hardest hit with plague, famine, riot, and death. They would also have the highest concentration of highwaymen and mutant Sicks. It was never worth the risk.